


Eyes of War

by Background_Character



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, Gen, Gender-Neutral Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, kiran is a child au, there was an attempt at writing dark crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Character/pseuds/Background_Character
Summary: In which the great hero from another world is just a child and Alfonse tries to find peace of mind, failing miserably in the process.





	Eyes of War

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not write a continuation, but for now, this is enough.
> 
> Will come back later to edit.

He knows war.

He has seen it in the eyes of his father, the king whom once in a lifetime past wrought ruin upon Askr to bring peace to their kingdom. It is an old memory, one that many would rather like to ignore in favour of devoting themselves to oppose Embla, but as crown prince, it is one of his many duties to know the history of their people. It is something that cannot be ignored, no matter how harsh the whispers of illegitimacy behind the hands of those in the council who bring it up now and then, just to question the authority of his father when opinions differ. War is held in the eyes of a man who wishes for nothing more than eternal rest, not a lifetime of damnation.

He has seen it in the eyes of the commander, the woman who saw what needed to be done when no one else would step up to the job. She appeared before the court when he was a young boy, gasping for breath, a half-shattered axe and a burlap sack over her shoulder, reasoning that if they could find another worthy of her position, she would willingly be exiled for her crime of scandal. He remembers the war in her eyes, one that focused on not the people around her, but for herself. He has heard rumours about her, none ringing true in his ears, but over the years that she has stayed in command of the Order, the border has never been crossed by any who dare vie the balance of the worlds.

He has seen it in his own sister, the little girl who cried on his shoulders grew into the shell of a warrior leading the charge on their current threat. He wonders if she still dreams sometimes, of what they whispered to each other during impromptu sleepovers, promising to never part until death took either of them. They are memories he cherishes still to this day, every time he raises his sword, or Sharena with her lance, and when he has to remind her that this is not a game; they could very well die like all those that came before them. It may not quite be all there yet, but he knows that one day they will look over the horizon together and he will see the fire in her eyes burning remorsefully.

He knows war.

He has seen in the eyes of those who taught him, people who would be ghosts if they weren't otherwise servicing the kingdom. He has seen it in the eyes of those that rush to his side with clamouring hands on a fine day in the streets, where there are markets and quiet shops alike remember well what war can do to the common folk, single-handedly bearing witness to a downfall and an upheaval in a swift matter of time.

Even after his father's battle and there came an era in which children were allowed the chance to grow up as such, he has trained his whole life for the possibility of Askran blood being shed.

He knows war.

The soldiers under his leadership, older than him by a couple of years or so, all hold it in their eyes warily.

They are of a generation that burnt to the ground and tasted the ash of the aftermath on their very tongues, some entering the army with the tang of blood on their palates already and a roughness normally hard to gain outside of conflict. He has seen these eyes before, regarding him poisonously before they saw him rush towards volleys of arrows and magic without a means of protection save for his flimsy armour, crafted of golden alloy and white cloth to designate his status in the midst of battle, and a war cry tearing asunder in his throat.

Alfonse thought he knew war.

It is an epiphany that strikes him when Commander Anna introduces him to the one who would guide them to victory in this war, with the divine weapon Breidablik in their possession, he thought not all hope was lost and that they could live to fight another day.

It is an epiphany that strikes him when instead of turning his head to face the Summoner, he has to look down into the wide eyes of a mere child, a cloak many sizes too big engulfing their entire frame.

Kiran is their name, the child claims.

They shiver like the leaves of a tree in a storm as he sees the flecks of red smeared across their skin.

He had grimaced then, reluctant to put his trust in the hands of naivety's incarnation itself, but was quickly proved wrong as the tides of war came knocking again and the Summoner shouts orders from afar, hanging from the shoulders of the bow-wielding Hero they first called to Zenith. Safely out of danger and crushing the Emblian forces with a ferociousness he has only seen in the eyes of people blinded by emotions. A ferociousness that all but disappears from their demeanour once it is evident the toll of bodies scattered across the field is enough to consider a platoon, they had won that battle with little on their side lost. He would've considered it a well campaign had it not been for the fact they were losing before the Summoner— _a child his mind reminds over and over again_ —was brought over and took over control from his poor grasp on refined tactics.

He thought he knew war when they encountered Prince Xander in the World of Conquest, under the Emblian Empire's flag, for a second time so soon after freeing the the Hero-King Marth from Princess Veronica's hold. He thought he knew all when it came to the art of war, but clearly he is wrong when Xander relinquished his freedom, claiming that he would not be returning to his own home soon and would stay in Zenith by his former contractor's side out of his own free will.

It is an epiphany that strikes him a second time as he can only watch Kiran squeeze past the Askran front and chase after the knight, barely caring for the mud they track everywhere with a hand stretched out for the dark magenta cape flying in the wind.

It takes sheer will not to cry out, lest he wanted to startle both his men and the dangerous entity before them into instinctively reacting and reaching for whatever weapon they could.

Siegfried's sharp edge was too close for his liking after all.

All noise becomes a quiet hum, bated breaths are held in and the uncomfortable shifting of armour rivals that of the Summoner's faint whispers to Xander.

Alfonse wondered what could be so important to someone, who understood practically nothing of this world and this war, to step within an enemy's range of killing and act like it was nothing.

He held his tongue when he heard the knowing crack of finely tempered steel against flesh, didn't move in the slightest as the child crumpled to the ground, clutching their struck cheek and screeching the unholiest of threats that would make a god's ears bleed. All the while, Xander mounted his horse and rode into the distance, never looking back, but Alfonse saw, if he squinted hard enough, he could see the other prince's grip on his reins were far too tight for an enemy cold-hearted enough to cuff a child. 

Only, when he knew it was safe, did he rush to the Summoner's side, Anna and Sharena following closely after.

He knows war.

And it is not this.

War in the eyes of a child is vastly different, warping far beyond the point of reality.

(He sees it himself, everyday, when he looks in the mirror reflecting a perfect image. A haunting sight, if he were to be honest and he tells himself that it's alright, this is normal. Nothing will stop the simmering embers from reaching his sight but there is still the life in them the people will recognise—the life that will draw them into his fold and remain loyal. It frightens him, that war can change a person so much in a short amount of time with the right kinds of exposure, and he fears for the day he will awaken to nothing more than a daymare.

He does not want it.

He does not like the idea of it.

He hates war.)

Alfonse knows war isn't a matter of winning or losing, it is a traipse with life and death.

> For all that he may love Askr... 
> 
> _"I'm truly sorry," he whispers into their ear, carding a hand through their hair whilst his other supported their meager weight in his arms. "I should've said something earlier."_
> 
> ... his conscience shall be eaten away, until there is nothing left to appease the carnal desire for seeing death. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Breakdown of this Child!Kiran AU fic:
> 
> \- Alfonse has a guilty conscience.  
> \- Kiran wants to bring peace. Gets hurt for trying.  
> \- Fun times all around.
> 
> •
> 
> I've been eyeing this fandom from a distance for too long.
> 
> Send help.


End file.
